


That's something

by RhinoHill



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst and Feels, Breaking the Fourth Wall, F/M, IFD2020, IFDrabble, Unrequited Love, so many easter eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoHill/pseuds/RhinoHill
Summary: "Hi. Um. God, I feel silly doing this. But it’s only an old laptop, I guess. Not too much to lose apart from my dignity.. Okay. Phew. So here goes. Hello SG-1! If that’s what you’re called in your version of the universe. If that mirror that looked like the quantum mirror from that episode of SG-1 is actually a quantum mirror... I’m willing to take the chance."It's 2019, and the SGC awakens to a laptop from earth - an alternate earth where Stargate was a TV show like Wormhole Xtreme. A laptop filled with fanfiction from a site called AO3 and an interview with Amanda Tapping and Richard Dean Anderson, where they discuss Sam and Jack's feelings for each other.--oOo--
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 89
Kudos: 90
Collections: International Fanworks Day 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for International Fanworks Day 2020, as part of the IFDrabble prompt exploring what would happen if our characters found fanfic about themselves.
> 
> I had SUCH fun writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it too, unicorns!
> 
> I love you all.  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

It looks like a normal enough laptop, Jack muses, walking around the alien object on the briefing room table that has dragged both him and his crack team out of action and into this huddle.

Cam and Teal’c are already seated. Daniel bounces excitedly on his feet next to the projector, laser pointer in his hands. Sam fiddles with a wire, then straightens, nods at the archaeologist and slides quietly into the seat at Jack’s right hand. In the darkness, her knee brushes his thigh and he leans into the touch before she turns away, leaving a hollowness in his gut that he knows the coffee in his hands won’t fill. 

“You kids sure this is safe?” His voice is gruffer than he intended.

She turns a gentle smile on him. “Yes, sir. We’re running on isolated circuits - battery operated, thermally and electromagnetically shielded to avoid any unintentional communication with our systems.”

“If I get pinned against the wall again by some invading alien, I’m gonna zat you so hard, Carter. Harder than the time YOU were taken over by computer code.”

His mouth twitches as he tries to hide the memory of pain under his humour. Not the pain that pierced his shoulder when that damn energy alien had attacked him. The pain that pierced his heart when he had shot her possessed body with his zat gun the second time, knowing he was killing her. That was eight years ago now, but the ache never left him. Like a phantom limb, it lingered, only ever easing when they brushed against each other, or in a quiet moment when she smiled at him and him alone.

“We’ve learnt from those mistakes.” Her voice is tinged with regret, and he curses himself for letting her feel guilty. That isn’t what he meant. He was only trying to keep her from harm.

With a frustrated sigh, he waves his hand at Daniel. “Carry on, then.”

“As you know, this laptop was found in the storage room next to the quantum mirror this morning. It appears the mirror had been remotely activated for a few seconds to slide the laptop through, and then it had been locked down again before our systems could trace the signal. The machine was fully charged, and the username and password was taped to the outside.

The gathered team lean forward to peer at the piece of paper stuck to the back of the machine:  
Username: Stargate_SG1  
Password: Fishing

She jerks back in her seat, her face flushing in the gloom. Cam seems to be watching her carefully, but the others haven’t noticed her reaction. Jack angles his chair a little further towards her as Daniel begins his story. It had been a good weekend, the one time she had finally agreed to come fishing with him and the rest of SG-1after she had finally dumped that scumbag Pete. All weekend, she had been so relaxed. He had never seen her smile as much as she did at his cabin. 

“Here is the introduction we got.” Daniel double clicks on a video, and a kind-looking face, female, early thirties if Jack had to hazard a guess, fills the screen.

_Hi. Um. God, I feel silly doing this. But it’s only an old laptop, I guess. Not too much to lose apart from my dignity.. Okay. Phew. So here goes._

_Hello SG-1! If that’s what you’re called in your version of the universe. If that mirror that looked like the quantum mirror from that episode of SG-1 is actually a quantum mirror. I’m willing to take the chance._

Hands come up to tuck an escaping strand of hair behind the speaker’s ear.

_So I’m from earth - no surprises there! And I am, like, the BIGGEST fan of your show. Ever. I mean, my dogs are called Jaffa and Kree. I giggle every time I call them in the park. Anyway…_

Next to him, Sam snorts. Teal’c raises a silent eyebrow.

“Come on, Teal’c, you have to admit, it’s cute. Shouting a dog’s name will make it come to you, so if you call them Jaffa and Kree…” she trails off, shifting a little in her seat. Cam gives her an appreciative grin. 

At least this alternate universe has a sense of humour, Jack thinks to himself as he drags his eyes away from her and back to the screen.

 _So, since the show was cancelled, the fandom keeps it alive. Stargate conventions are still some of the most popular on earth - on this earth, I guess I should specify,_ the woman on the screen breaks off with a giggle - _and Stargate Fanfic is one of the biggest categories on the whole of the AO3 - uh, that’s a website dedicated to all sorts of fan fiction._

_So I was wondering what it’s like in your universe? How does your fandom compare to ours? Are the actors as supportive of the fans as ours are? I mean, Rick and Amanda even play along with the whole Sam/Jack ship. It’s the MOST adorable thing._

_Anyway, I don’t want to bore you. Just, if this finds you, I thought you would like to see what our fans do to honour their favourite show here on our earth. And if you want, you can send some of your fan works back to us? I plan to tune the mirror to the same co-ordinates at midnight on the 15th of February._

Jack snaps to attention. Finally, something he can work with. “Have we found a way to contain the threat on the fifteenth?” he barks.

“We already have a team working on it, sir,” Sam steps in calmly. “Though it may be a genuine invitation to interact, considering they gave us the time and date of next contact. Still, we have the mirror room under lockdown, and isolated from the rest of the base until then.”

“Good,” he mumbles, turning to Daniel instead. “So hold up. In their version of the world we’re - “

“A TV show. Yes.”

“Like Wormhole Xtreme. Not real. People - ” his fingers hover, trying to pick sense out of the air in front of him. “People PRETEND to be us. Then they go home and have other lives?”

“Well, better than Wormhole Xtreme, I hope,” Cam sniggers.

“That’s exactly right, Jack.” Daniel opens a folder named “Photos” and scrolls through images depicting moments they have lived, as well as others, where their doppelgangers wear different clothes and enact scenes he has no recollection of.

“Stop there,” Jack orders at a moving image picturing the moment he found Sam after she had spent days alone on a planet, lost and hunted by that fucking super soldier.

“ _I thought I’d lost you, I never want to lose you again_ ,” he’d ached to whisper into her hair when he finally found her.

“You okay to get up?” he’d asked her instead.

And when she told him she just needed a minute, he’d pulled her head against his shoulder and gently rested his arm around her shoulders, clenching his fist in helpless rage at the creature who had hurt her; clenching his heart at the urge to hold her in both arms and kiss her until she forgot her pain, forgot everything except his body against hers.

Their bodies on the screen echo his memories, but suddenly the on-screen versions of them straighten up and grin. On-screen him takes both her shoulders in his hands and twists her towards him. “ _God, you are so adorable. I could just kiss you_ ,” his doppelganger says. Her smile gets more dazzling and right there, they kiss. Granted, it’s playful and possibly no more than platonic.

But it’s there. On the screen.

The briefing room descends into silence. Awkward silence, as five people watch the thing that’s plagued his daydreams.

“Uh, there are quite a lot of behind-the-scenes shots.” Daniel is looking at Sam when he suddenly reaches forward and starts scrolling through the images again. Jack glances at her. Her mouth is a thin, hard line. She’s not looking at the screen anymore, but at her fingers, twisted together on the table.

“And what is this fan fiction of which they speak, Daniel Jackson?” Teal’c breaks the spell.

“Ah, that is something that I’ve never seen before.” The academic in Daniel is back, his tone suddenly far more comfortable. He clicks on the folder marked ‘AO3 Fanfic’ and several more folders appear, ranked in order of the number of documents they contain.

“Fan fiction, fanfic for short, appears to be a way fans show appreciation and continue the story after it’s finished .They write, or draw, or make art out of videoclips from any show and share it for free with other fans. Often it focuses on their favourite characters’ back stories, or their lives outside of work. You’re particularly popular, Jack.” The archaeologist flashes a crooked grin.

“I don’t see my name there,” Jack shoots back.

“No, no, you’re the J in all of these ships.” Daniel’s laser pointer circles around S/J 4326 and D/J 5733, before travelling further down the screen.

“Ships?” Jack's brow creases.

“Ah, uh, maybe I should let the actress who plays Sam explain that. She does it particularly well.”

A video file opens, flashing the title: **Amanda Tapping and Richard Dean Anderson Stargate panel at Wales ComiCon 2019**.

It’s them. Definitely and undeniably them. Not the way they looked years ago. They way they look now. Well, no. He looks older on sceen than he does in real life. And - well, middle aged spread has very much set in with his on-screen self. Maybe it’s because of the hours he still puts in in the base gym whenever she feels too close and yet too far away. He grimaces to himself. Sexual frustration is a great motivator for working out, apparently.

But Sam - Amanda - whoever she is in that life. God. She is even more beautiful. It’s not the hair, although that is different - shorter, brighter blonde. It’s not the long jersey-like coat that delicately wraps her arms and traces the lines of her body the way he has so often dreamed of doing. It’s her smile. Easy. Open. Directed in turns at the camera and at him.

He leans in closer.

“Ok, here it is,” Daniel taps the volume button and Sam’s voice fills the room from the screen. With a fond smile that dimples her cheeks and lights up her eyes, she leans towards him, caresses his shoulder and whispers in his ear that “shippers” are fans who write stories about the two of them being in a relationship.

Daniel hits the pause button, looking around the room. “So that’s what it means. Sometimes a ship can be platonic. Mostly it’s not. The two initials on either side of the forward slash are the two people involved.”

“Keep playing.” The words, low and hoarse, are out of Jack’s mouth before he has a chance to think further.

“What?” Daniel’s forehead creases.

“The video. Keep playing.”

“Uh, maybe…”

“Keep playing!” Jack snaps. He doesn’t know why, but he has to see more.

He and Sam - no, Rick and Amanda - seem to be listening to someone off screen. Ah. The camera pans to show a young woman standing at a microphone, asking a question. " _So, what would be your S/J shipper moment? How would you confirm that Sam and Jack are in a relationship?"_

 _"Well"_ , Amanda grins and squeezes his shoulder again. _"I would start with an exterior shot of Jack’s cabin, panning closer. And then I’d cut to a scene of his bed. And we’d see his head on his pillow. And then she’d roll over into view, her head on the same pillow"._

On the screen, he turns to her with fondness glowing in every crease of his face. A cocky grin makes him look - thankfully - younger. _"And I’d end with her scene."_ he says. _"But I’d start the scene the night before."_

—oOo— 

The base is quiet by the time he’s pummeled enough of his frustration into a punching bag and showered. He walks back to his office, but the moment he sees the scene he froze on the screen of the portable device that holds his copy of the alien laptop’s contents, he spins away again. Rick and Amanda, on the couch at Wales Comicon, holding hands and smiling at each other. Not quiet, stolen smiles. Open, and happy.

He has to see her. He knows she’s still here, because the hole in his chest tingles with her nearness. Yet another thing he never wants to have to explain to anyone.

“Carter?” he knocks on her lab door. 

“Come in, sir.” Her voice sounds flatter than usual. But maybe that’s just because the voice on the couch thrummed with such deep contentment. 

“How are you getting on with the mechanism that activated the mirror despite our shutdown?”

What a stupid fucking thing to ask. _“How can I make you smile like you did on the couch when your name was Amanda?”_ is what he wants to know. It’s ALL he wants to know.

Instead, she shuts down further as he steps into the room.

“Not much yet, sir. I don’t understand it.” She lifts her shoulders and drops them in defeat. ”Their technology seems to be one hundred percent human. Yet somehow they managed to override our activation alarm.”

“And they don’t even have an actual Colonel Carter to do it for them,” he tries to infuse his words with lightness as he steps around behind her. “She goes home and has a life at night. Imagine that.”

That elicits a tiny smile, at least. “Does it feel strange to you, too, sir? I mean, I’ve met robot versions of myself, replicator versions, alternate versions. But never someone who only pretends to be me.” She’s still turned away from him, and it’s impossible to know if she’s looking at the algorithms scrolling across her computer’s monitor, or at the screen of the portable device she was issued with which stores her copy of the data from the alien laptop.

 _Shit_. He had expected her to be fascinated by the entire contents of the alien laptop. He had expected her to lock into one or two of the aspects of it. He has to admit, he had hoped their relationship would be one. But it is the _only_ thing she’s captured. Over and over. It makes his stomach leap in a wild dance of hope . It makes him want to spin her round and claim her lips.   
  
He leans in closer.

“Hmmm. Have you ever considered having dark hair, like that?”

Now her head does turn, following his pointing finger to the screen of her portable device. Where he froze a single moment on his screen, she has three images overlayed. One where she has long, dark hair that makes her eyes shout sapphire and he is holding her from behind in an easy embrace. Below that, the moment of the kiss that he had made Daniel play in the briefing room today, on the planet where he thought her death knell had sounded. And an image of him sitting and her grinning head leaning sideways into the frame, as if she’s hanging off the end of a desk or a bed just to be close to him.

Stepping in front of the screen, spinning to face him, she folds her arms tightly around her waist. Her eyes don’t quite rise to meet him. “Only once in college, sir. It. It takes too much time. And I should be working on the mirror anyway.” She twists away sharply, turning the portable device over to hide the screen and focusing on her computer.

He settles a soft hand on her shoulder. “Or maybe you would focus better after a break.”

She says nothing, but her shoulder, warm under his palm, does not shake him off. It gives him courage to push on.

“I’ve just been to gym and I feel better for the break. Why don’t you let me take you for dinner? Two hours, and then you can come back and look at it all from another angle.”

“I… I really should keep working, sir.”

He knows how this conversation will end. The same way it does every time he asks her to come fishing. She hides behind work and he gives up just a moment after his begging becomes embarrassing.   
It’s futile.  
But as long as he can feel her shoulder under his hand, the ache in his chest eases. And he’s not ready to let her go.

“So how about we find out what their lives are like. Call it research. We’ll leave Sam and Jack here, and Rick and Amanda can go for dinner, talk about how the writers keep writing us into idiotic situations, moan about how the makeup lady always makes me look old and fat and grumpy.”

When she turns, his hand remains on her shoulder, so that his arm curls around her shoulders. The soft blond hair at the nape of her nick chases goosflesh over his skin.

She looks at his chest, right into the hole that only her presence fills.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, sir.” 

There is so much sadness in her words. And so much longing. His arm around her tightens, his hand holding her shoulder like an anchor. He wants to crush her to him, to kiss all her pain away. But she works for him. Which means he can never make the first move, because he would never know if she went along with it by choice or because of his rank. And he could never, ever live with that.

“Why not, Carter?” is all he can ask.

She draws a shuddering breath, and suddenly, her eyes bore into his, bluer than he has ever seen, and glistening with tears.

“Because I’m not sure I would be able to stop with dinner.”

Her mouth works around more words, but instead, a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek. She looks down again. “Sorry,” she breathes.

And all his stupid fantasies, his excited thoughts about pretending to be Rick and Amanda, about holding hands and sharing lives, burn away under the need to somehow shield her from her pain.

“C’mere,” he whispers as he pulls her towards him, feeling her arms wrap into his hug, her face tucking into his chest. He drops his head until his cheek rests against the vanilla-scented silk of her hair.

He’s been holding her for minutes by the time she speaks against his chest. “They seem to be good friends, though, don’t they? Rick and Amanda?” 

“Yeah, they do,” he answers, feeling each word feather hair across her neck, but unwilling to move.

“Well.” She gives a small sigh, and he can feel her shoulders squaring as she prepares to let him go, to leave this almost-moment in the box of memories that never was. “That’s something, I guess.”

“Yeah. That’s something.”


	2. A soft place to land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had passed beyond "I love you" years ago. What he wanted to say ran deeper.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 24 hours, my country goes into lockdown. 
> 
> Like so many of us, I'm keeping it together for my business, my team, my family.  
> But I really wish I could just walk out of this world where death threatens and find warm arms and a soft place to land. 
> 
> So tonight, I gave Sam what I crave. And I hope it helps one or two of you too.
> 
> Tomorrow, we'll all fight on.
> 
> #Quarantinefic

Sam turns back towards the gate room as she reaches the top of the ramp. Her eyes search until she finds him standing in the back.  
Her lips twitch. It’s as if she’s speaking without opening her mouth.

In the crowded room, his face lifts into a smile for her. He nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Go give ‘em hell, SG-1,” he says.

She spins, and she is gone, leaving him with the memories of flowers, and a gnawing fear in his chest about what he has just let her and the team walk into.

Yesterday was Valentine’s day. A day he normally left well alone. But the images from the alien computer, dropped into their reality less than two weeks before, drifted at the edge of his vision day and night. Their comfortable touches. Their easy, caring friendship. The way Amanda shone and Rick glowed when he watched her speaking about the television shows she’d directed. 

Carter would make a damn good director. She paid attention to every goddamn detail. And, frustratingly, she understood them all. Over the past weeks, a new photo of Amanda had become his favourite - one where she’s leaning forward, one hand lightly holding a set of director's headphones to her ear, a smile lighting her entire face as she listens to the actors on set.

He shakes his head as the image in his mind and the worry in his gut collide. Yesterday was Valentine’s day. And today he sent her and her team through the gate on a mission to rescue SG-7. He fucking hates rescue missions; hates rescue missions that put her in line of fire even more. This one does both, but she is the only person with the skill, and courage, and brains to pull it off.

He slams an angry fist into the wall as he walks.

Yesterday was Valentine’s day and he couldn’t let it pass without _something_. Not with today’s mission coming. Not with Rick and Amanda now anchored in their past. He’d driven to a different suburb to find a flower shop where no-one knew either of them, had trailed his fingertips over the petals of deep red roses and pale, trembling orchids. But they weren’t her. Nor were they what he was trying to say.

They had passed beyond _I love you_ years ago. What he wanted to say ran deeper.

Eventually, he'd bought a length of pale blue ribbon flecked with gold, like her hair and her eyes caught eternally in a ray of sun, and he’d driven home, to where the first wildflowers of early spring bobbed in the late afternoon sun on his lawn. Bluebells, buttercups, the season’s first crocuses. One by one, he gathered them up into an exhuberant handful, propped them in an empty jar, scrawled his note, and tied the ribbon in a bow around the spare key to his front door.

He’d been standing in the darkened street when she came home last night. He’d seen her frowning as she crouched down to pick up the small jar of brightness, then dip her head to breathe in their scent. She’d turned the card attached to his key in her fingers, and bitten her bottom lip when she read his words: _Because everybody needs a soft place to land sometimes. Rick_

For a moment, she scanned the street intently. But before she saw him, her shoulders hunched forward and she disappeared into the house.

—oOo—

The gate siren set his feet in motion before his brain had even registered their movement. Thirty-six hours, twenty-four minutes after she led her team off world. Too long. Too long. His heart hammered doom in his throat to the beat of the refrain. Too long.

Someone unconscious was being carried through the gate by seven tattered, dirtied soldiers. His heart kicked to a violent halt. 

“Wilson needs urgent attention, Janet.” 

It was her voice.

The world spun sickeningly back into focus. 

She’d rescued them all. Even though Captain Wilson would remain critical for days, every last man was back on earth. But exhaustion and darkness haunted her eyes all through the debriefing, her voice flat, as if letting any emotion out would open a crack in her control and make her crumble. 

A new aching replaced the gnawing fear in his gut. The hollowness that only holding her could still. But what right had he, the person who had sent her there, while he stayed behind his desk? What right had he to pain when she had done all the suffering?

Frustration finally drove him to the gym and home, onto the couch, picking at the label on his beer bottle while a game that should have held him captive scrolled past unseeing eyes.

Something scratched at his front door.

Jack stiffened, glanced at the clock and through the window. Nine fifteen.

The scratching came again.

Cat-like, he crouched towards the hall, his sidearm tucked behind his hip.

The doorknob twisted, and hesitantly the door swung towards him, framing her in a halo of light.

Her smile was too tired to be nervous.

“I.” Her hand dropped limply to her side, his key dangling from it in a loop of blue and gold. Her lip trembled. “I could use that soft place tonight.”

The weight of emotion forced his eyes closed. He stretched out his hand to her in darkness, not daring to look at her again until he felt her fingers slip into his palm.

“Come.” His voice was hoarse as he turned and led her up the stairs and to his bedroom, lit only by the moon.

Next to his bed, he toed off his shoes and pulled back the covers with one hand. A small gasp escaped her.

He sat down heavily on the bed, love and desire warring with the need to hold her, to protect her, to cradle her.

“Come,” he said again as he pulled her against his chest and drew the covers over them.

In the silence of the moonlight, she slowly unclenched, folded her arms around his back and rested her cheek in the crease of his shoulder.

As her breath slowed and deepened into sleep, he pressed his lips into her hair and let his love shield her from the sharp edges of the world.

The high-pitched peep of his alarm shocked her awake in his arms. Outside, the early spring morning still waited for the dawn. He lay still against her alertness, knowing it had to end, wanting to hold her in this moment for just one more breath.

Her arms uncurled. She pushed up to sitting, her face averted even though he couldn’t make out her expression in the darkness.

His hand found hers, still warm from sleep and his skin. He squeezed her fingers.

“I’ll get some coffee going,” he whispered, terrified to move too fast and completely destroy the fading moment.

“No, it’s okay. I should go.”

She pulled up to standing, fumbling for her shoes on the floor. 

Jack flicked on the bedside lamp, careful to keep his face neutral against the pull of loss.

At the door to his room, she turned, a bright flush on her cheeks, uncertainty in her eyes.

“Thank you —” her mouth worked silently “— sir.”


	3. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Carter, c’mere.” He leaned over to pull the covers back on the other side of the bed, then tucked his arms behind his head in a sign of surrender. “Wanna talk about what really happened on that rescue mission this week?”
> 
> Soft steps approached the bed and her weight settled, next to him, but apart. 
> 
> “It - it was nothing more than I said in the debriefing, sir.” 
> 
> But she had not been able to sleep alone since she came home. The silence thickened. Fists clenched behind his head, he waited. 
> 
> “It was only. Fred - Wilson. He was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him when he got back. And he almost didn’t make it back.”
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ConnieN mentioned all the Facetime, Skype and other VOIP conversations we've been having with our loved ones while in isolation.  
> They're often awkward, mis-timed choruses of people speaking at the same time as we try to distract each other from the weight of the world, sharing bad jokes and long pauses as we try to say without saying: "I love you. I want you to be okay. I wish I could hold you."
> 
> To @ConnieN, @Loverustal, @Gwhite, @Lori227 and everybody else who is reading to find connection, or distraction, or light:
> 
> I love you. I want you to be okay. One day we will meet and I will hug you and tell you in person how valued and beautiful you are.
> 
> #QuarantineFic
> 
> \--oOo--

“Carter?”

Jack cursed silently the moment he uttered the word. He should have listened more carefully before knocking on the door to her lab. He should have heard that Daniel was with her. 

The door swung open, catching him in full grimace.

“Jack! Long time no see,” Daniel said pointedly.

With an inward sigh, Jack stepped into her space. 

“Hey, kids, watcha doin’?” Feigned nonchalance was the only response his body could have to her, in someone else’s presence.

She watched him, a guarded twist to her lips dimpling one cheek in the muted light.

“We were discussing team night at Sam’s, actually. You know,” Daniel pinned him with a stare, “the thing we’ve done pretty much every Friday for eighteen years now. Say, Jack, why did you stop coming? We never stopped inviting you.”

Her eyes dipped, then. 

Something - guilt? Regret? - something grey and slimy slithered in his gut. “I’m not part of the team anymore, Daniel.”

“Jack. We still want you there.”  
“We still want you there, Sir.”

It was a mis-timed chorus of two that fumbled into silence. She twisted her head away with a flush. But the words sang harmony to him.

“Well, okay. If you’re sure. I’ll bring extra ice cream so T doesn’t beat me up.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that bubbled to the surface on his way back to his office.

—oOo— 

After dinner, the team drifted away two by two until even Daniel and Teal’c stretched their arms above their heads in a move _just_ co-ordinated enough to make him raise an eyebrow at their smooth excuses about tiredness and early starts.

Suddenly it was only the two of them; her gently shutting her front door and him gathering pizza boxes, carrying empty beer bottles to her kitchen, stacking bowls and plates.

“You don’t have to…”

“Come on Carter, it won’t take a moment if there’s two sets of hands.”

He swished water loudly onto the bowls, not realising how tense he held his shoulders until they dropped under her whispered “okay.”

Eventually, even the countertops were pristine. He handed her the last plate, which he had hand dried - completely unnecessarily, considering both the drying rack and the dishwasher. 

“Well,” he snapped the tea towel across his palm, “at least you won’t have to deal with a disaster in the kitchen tomorrow.”

_Could you sound any more like her doddery great-aunt, Jack? God!_ Desperately casting around for redemption, his eyes caught a small glass jar tucked against the wall, holding a handful of wild flowers. A memory of his key dangling from her fingers silenced his clumsy attempts. He didn’t need to push it. Not tonight. He’d seen her two nights in a row. That was friendship enough.

A peculiar peace invaded him as he faced her from the doorway to her kitchen.

“So,” his voice was gentler when he spoke again. “I’d better g—”

“Stay.”

A beat fluttered in her throat. The word draped like silk around them.

“’Course. Let me get my grab-bag from the truck.”

Bracing his hand against the cool metal of his truck’s roof, Jack let out the breath he’d been holding since her single-word invitation. His muscles trembled with the need to hold her. He longed to run his lips along her neck, to dip down to the swell of her breasts, to taste the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat. But somehow, he knew that wasn’t what she needed. Not tonight. Not with averted eyes and a whispered word. 

Not Carter. When she wanted that, she’d look him in the eye.

Running his fingers through his hair, he shouldered the grab bag they always had at the ready with a spare change of clothes and toiletries, shooting silent thanks to the sky that he was better prepared than an accountant or a lawyer. Or an actor. Though an actor may have at least known what to say to set her at ease after eighteen years of loving her.

Still, at least he had a toothbrush on hand. With a snort, he slammed the door shut and turned back to find her house growing darker as one light after another clicked off, until her silhouette appeared against the porch light, haloed in uncertainty.

Just as it did every time, her hesitation kicked him into action. With steady steps echoing his smile, he closed the space between them.

“You mind if I use the bathroom first?” his light tone soothed. “Vala may have forgotten that garlic bread shouldn’t be equal parts bread and garlic.”

She stifled an uncertain giggle as she let the way to the only room in the house with the light still on. 

Getting ready to turn in was a dance they knew from years in the field and they slipped into it with quiet familiarity, taking turns to disappear into the bathroom, folding their clothes into neat piles. Her sheets were cool against his legs, scented of lavender. With a jolt he realised where that nuance of her smell came from.

The bathroom door opened, and just before she clicked off the light, her eyes bored into his, a muscle jumping in her jaw. She stood still in the ensuing dark. He could feel her pulsing concern into the space.

“Carter, c’mere.” He leaned over to pull the covers back on the other side of the bed, then tucked his arms behind his head in a sign of surrender. “Wanna talk about what really happened on that rescue mission this week?”

Soft steps approached the bed and her weight settled, next to him, but apart. 

“It - it was nothing more than I said in the debriefing, sir.” 

But she had not been able to sleep alone since she came home. The silence thickened. Fists clenched behind his head, he waited. 

“It was only. Fred - Wilson. He was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him when he got back. And he almost didn’t make it back.” She shrugged around the crack in her voice.

The bed creaked as he reached for her, pulled her against his chest. As her presence thawed the cold spaces in his chest, he pulled a harmless thought out of his memory to distract her.

“Carter, what do you think of being a director, then? Could ya see yourself doing that one day? Like Amanda?”

A gentle puff of breath against his chest, and she untensed a fraction. “Of all the jobs in show business, that’s one of the few I think I could enjoy. I mean, directing is sort of like leading a team.” 

A movement against his t-shirt made him imagine her lips curving gently upwards.

“And I think I’d like all the different lenses. Figuring out how to show everybody in their best light.” 

Her shoulders tightened again, and he knew she was considering her next words. 

“Besides, I couldn’t do the acting bit. All those hours being fussed over every day, hair and make-up.” She shuddered. “And I’m not b… I’m not like that.”

_Beautiful. I’m not beautiful_. The word hung between them, heavy as the sudden thudding of her heart.

“You really don’t see that about yourself, do you?” He couldn’t stop the words. They landed awkwardly, adding to the mountain of half-uttered truths they had so carefully tended over the years.

Shaking himself free of the sudden weight, folding his arms a little closer around her back, he found his playful tone again. “And me? What do you see me doing on your film set, Director Carter?”

She relaxed into him again, into the soft, forbidden, perfect comfort of their bodies pressed close in the darkness.

“You’d make a good actor. You have the presence.”

“Thank god you don’t want me to learn about all the camera angles or whatever directors need to do.”

A gentle laugh huffed against his chest, spurring him on.

“Though I think I may be better suited to running the catering truck. There would be cake. Every day.”

“Hmmm. The actors may not love you for that. They need to work hard to keep looking as good as they do.”

Her weight shifted and her cheek came to rest against his chest.

A bubble surrounded his heart and tugged it into the air, too light to remain in his chest with her nestled there, smelling of lemon and vanilla and the lavender of her bed.

“Actually, I think I could be a stunt guy.”

“A stunt guy?”

He could spend his life like this, holding her, talking nonsense while she breathed his words back at him as she drifted to sleep.

“Yeah.” Slowly, his hand crept up, sliding his fingers through her hair as he cupped her head close to him. “I’m ridiculously good at falling.”


	4. Bitter coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornin’,” he said, casually as he could manage.
> 
> “Morning.” Her voice was hesitant, but she didn’t move.
> 
> A stupid, happy smile bloomed across his face as they lay together and breathed in the silence.
> 
> “Can I, uh,” after a minute, she shifted away, “can I make you some coffee?”
> 
> \--oOo--

He was drifting on the most beautiful dream, a dream that smelt of lemon and vanilla and lavender, that felt soft and warm and _perfect_. The gentle weight of a head on his chest, a leg draped loosely over his, a warm hand nuzzled under the hem of his t-shirt, resting on his hip. Slowly, other details crystallised. The soft light of dawn against his closed eyelids, a pillow that was softer than his own.

Jack’s eyes flew open.

It wasn’t a dream. She was asleep, curled into him, her hand under his t-shirt.

Goosebumps flashed over his skin, prickling in anticipation. His need for her, always so close to the surface, rose, tight and hot, against his boxers.

_Not the time, Jack. Not the time. She’s asleep. This is not the time._

Releasing a slow breath between parted lips, he forced his muscles to relax, shifting his right leg a fraction away from her so that her thigh no longer pressed against his cock.

“Hmm-mmm.” With a protesting moan, she rolled closer in her sleep, draping her calf over his knee, as if to hold him in place. Through the thin fabric of her pajama bottoms, heat radiated onto his thigh from the apex of her legs.

Christ, she felt good. His breath hitched in his chest at the pulsing ache she fired in him. But she had pulled closer to him. _She had pulled closer to him_.

Moving slowly, afraid to breathe, he slid his right hand over the small of her back, encircling her waist, and edged it up under her shirt, until his palm curled around the warm skin of her hip, echoing her hand on his skin. Holding her against him as her breathing deepened again.

A shift in her weight snapped him to attention. Through the window, the morning sun painted paths of heat across the bed, echoing the way her body raised waves of heat along his spine. She tensed, shifting her hand against the skin of his hips, and her thighs trembled slightly against him, making his cock twitch so hard he was certain she could feel the movement. 

_Crap. Okay, Jack. Play it cool. She fucking knew how you felt years ago. If she felt this, it’s not news to her. Play it cool._

“Mornin’,” he said, casually as he could manage.

“Morning.” Her voice was hesitant, but she didn’t move.

A stupid, happy smile bloomed across his face as they lay together and breathed in the silence.

“Can I, uh,” after a minute, she shifted away, “can I make you some coffee?”

His skin tingled with the loss of her, making him curl back to her - a movement he caught just in time and turned into propping himself on his elbow, grinning lopsidedly. 

“Am I allowed to say yes, or do I have to run away now like you did yesterday?”

A flush crept over her cheeks.

_Too much, Jack. Back the fuck off, man!_ His smile melted away. “I’d love some coffee,” he said softly, longing to brush the hair off her face, to tell her it’s okay.

With a small nod and a quick, tight smile, she hopped up and left the bedroom, leaving him with his face in his hands and his entire body singing with need.

By the time he’d calmed and dressed, the rich, dark smell of coffee enticed him down the corridor. Dropping his grab-bag at the entrance to the kitchen, he took her in, still in her pajamas, bent over the cryptic crossword in the paper, a mug of coffee steaming in her hand. 

At the sound of his bag hitting the floor, she glanced up, a dazzle of blue eyes over shy dimples that set his skin on fire all over again. She spun away to fill a mug, adding just the right amount of sugar and cream, and walked to where he stood at the table, puzzling upside-down at the answers she had filled in.

“Thanks, Carter. You do this every day?” He pointed his chin in the direction of the paper. 

She had come to stand next to him, almost touching, making him thrill with her closeness, and now she leaned across the table to pull her own mug closer while she tilted her head to look at the crossword upside down.

“When I have time … of course!” She set her mug down with a clink, swung the paper around, grabbed her pen and filled “hebridean” into a row of empty squares. 

Jack blinked at the word, then at the clue. He didn’t know what either of them meant.

She straightened, as if she had suddenly become aware of how close they were, and turned to face him. 

“Thank you for staying.” Her eyes hovered on his mouth, then dropped further down. “I’m not sure why Fred got to me this week. I -” her shoulders jerked back “- I mean I’m fine for duty, that’s, not it, I mean …”

“Carter, c’mere.” His throat choked with emotion as he pulled her against his chest, folding his hand tenderly around her head and pulling it to rest against his heartbeat. “I know. It’s okay.”

Under his hand, he could feel her nodding, her breathing slowing. Each exhale tingled the skin on his bicep. Slowly, her hands moved to settle over his shoulder blades. One slipped lower, tracing the curve of his spine until it hovered in the small of his back, resting against the top of his jeans. The other hand started moving, sliding up, over the angle of his shoulder, down his arm, until her fingers touched skin.

A shock of desire coursed through him, making his whole body shudder. His need for her bulged, full and hot, his jeans doing nothing to stop it pressing into her.

Strangling a gasp, Jack stepped back.

A strong, sure hand on the small of his back kept his body tied to hers, kept him pressing, unbearably tight in the constriction of his clothes, against her soft warmth. 

Her breath against his arm came in small, hot puffs, but the rest of her body remained still until her hand on the small of his back moved again, further around his waist, the tips of her fingers dipping below the waistband of his jeans.

Against his chest, through the soft fabric of her pajamas, he could feel the rise of her breasts. Two small points hardened against him, tearing a groan from his chest. The hand cradling her head slipped lower, cupping the slender line of her neck, shivering at the gooseflesh his rough fingers raised, sliding along the sensitive skin in the crook of her neck where her soft curls ended, trailing down her arm.

Her phone shrilled from the counter.

They both froze, hands holding tighter, breaths rushing.

Another peal shrieked through the air.

She pulled free, leaving him reaching for the table to steady his shaking hands.

“Hey, Cass, is everything all right?” Her voice was pitched lower than usual, and a small tremor in it made him look up sharply. She had turned her back on him and one arm was wrapped, vice-like, around her chest. She steadied herself against the table, just as he did.

Jack blew out a shaking breath as her phone conversation continued.

“Ice skating? Sure, sounds like fun. If Janet is okay with it.” 

As his heart slowed, he listened to the affection in her voice. An image rose, unbidden. Amanda, the Other Earth Sam, the one who had triggered all of this when she slid into their world in a borrowed laptop, smiling happiness at a blonde toddler in her arms. 

Out of a clear blue sky, rage thundered through him. _How had this become her life? She loved Cassie so much. And she cared about him. He knew that. He couldn’t bear the tenderness in her voice, the fact it was directed at someone else’s child. Because she didn’t have anyone to start a family with._

The fury made him clench his fists and swing away, unable to face her. Because under the anger, an undercurrent of guilt twisted blades in his gut. She knew he loved her. He swore she knew. And she cared about him. What if that had kept her from moving on, from finding a partner, a father for a child of her own? _What if her unhappiness was his fault? Had his selfishness condemned the woman he loved to living only half a life?_

Her voice pulled him back into the room, past the enraged thundering of his heart.

“That’s quite soon, but I’ll do my best to get there on time. I’ll see you soon, Cass.”

By the time her phone was back on the table, he was in the doorway to the kitchen, grab-bag already shouldered. He had to get away before she saw his turmoil, before she asked him what was wrong. 

Because she would.

And he didn’t know if he could lie to her any more.

“You gotta get ready for Cass.” He spoke before she had even turned to face him. As she did, he twisted away. He couldn’t risk seeing the confused question that he was sure would haunt her eyes. 

“I’ll see myself out. Have a good weekend, Carter. Tell Cass I say hi.”

It wasn’t until he was in his truck, the door shut and his hands strangling the steering wheel, that he let the scream of loss tear free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For crying out loud, Jack!
> 
> It took you this long just to hold her, and to realise that?? 
> 
> If you don't come clean with her in the next chapter, I swear to God, I will punch you!
> 
> Oh.   
> Wait.  
> You do what I write.
> 
> OK.  
> No pressure, then...  
> ;->


	5. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned to her as he straightened from the floor, an apologetic smile at the ready. 
> 
> Her expression slammed into his gut. Sadness, yes. That he had expected. It was her constant companion recently, after all. But wrapped around her mouth was an unmistakable line, the same line that had etched itself into his face on the day when, eleven years old, he was the last boy left standing after every single other boy had been chosen by a team captain. Confused shame. The burning, humiliating cut of rejection.
> 
> \--oOo--

For the third time in a week, he stood outside her house, unsure whether he should go in.

Twice, reason had come out on top and he had walked away without her knowing he’d been there. On Valentine’s day, and then again last night. After he’d left her yesterday morning, racing away in his truck with guilt screaming in his ears, he’d been unable to take a full breath without his lungs clamping shut, his heart hammering against his ribs like a drunk beating his fists against the bars of his holding cell.

He’d driven to her house near midnight, hoping that being near her would ease the pain. But in the dark, on her street, it had only increased, until he raced away again.

 _It’s your fault_ , his heart thudded its accusation with every breath. _You made her wait for you. You never set her free. She’s alone because of your selfish, selfish, cowardly need to have a dream._

He clenched his fists, turning his back to her house to face the gentle colours of sunset on the horizon, praying silently for them to bring him calm. Again, he tried to breathe in.

His chest constricted. _Selfish, selfish, coward_ , his heart hammered.

He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes and spun back to her house. He had to do something. He had to set her free.

With grim footsteps, he climbed her steps. He hesitated at her front door.

_Selfish, selfish, coward._

Growling frustration at his heart’s unending accusation, he banged his fist against her door, flinching at how angry it sounded. That wasn’t his intention. Whatever he wanted to say to her - and he still had no idea what that was - he felt no anger towards her, only love. And years of regret at a life he stole from her.

The door swung open, startling him. She was barefoot, her hands slowly moving inside a tea towel as if she had just washed them and was drying them. She looked up, her eyes dark blue, set in drawn shadows against her cheeks. She hadn’t slept last night either.

“Sir.” The word was coloured with sadness. “Come in.”

Slowly, grasping for words to say, he walked in, looking at the floor. Keeping his eyes on her toes, he bent down to remove his shoes and socks. Two nights ago, at team night, everyone had kept their shoes on. But it felt wrong, disrespectful, to keep them on while he admitted what was strangling him.

He turned to her as he straightened from the floor, an apologetic smile at the ready. 

Her expression slammed into his gut. Sadness, yes. That he had expected. It was her constant companion recently, after all. But wrapped around her mouth was an unmistakable line, the same line that had etched itself into his face on the day when, eleven years old, he was the last boy left standing after every single other boy had been chosen by a team captain. Confused shame. The burning, humiliating cut of rejection.

_Where had that come from?_

With the power of an interrogation light turned onto him, the memory of yesterday morning in her kitchen hit him. Not from his own selfish point of view, but hers. Her arms had pulled him back into her when he’d tried to step away to hide his arousal. Her hands had feathered along the bare skin of his arm. Her fingers had slipped under the waistband of his jeans. Her body had invited him closer.

And he had left.

He had fucking left. 

FUCK.

“Carter, Sam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never - I’m such a fuck-up.” Shaking his head at himself, he ran exasperated fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots.

She was standing dead still, holding the tea towel in front of her like a soggy shield. An umbrella to keep a hurricane at bay.

And, like a hurricane, the truth tore free, rushing out of him.

“Carter, I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to stay. I love you. You know that, right? You know how I feel?” His fingers pulled at his hair as they forced trails along his scalp. “You deserve more than me. Your career does, and you do. And I’ve been too much of a coward to face it. But Wilson almost didn’t make it back this week. And I’m not going to keep dancing around this. I will not jeopardise your career. I promise. But I’m going to be your friend. Life is too short.”

Two steps and a lifetime away, her mouth twisted around emotions while her eyes, hesitant and dark, bored into him. Her lips parted and a small, soft sigh escaped.

“I’m just making dinner. Would you like to stay?”

Her words were tinged with the same regret as her smile. But they held an olive branch. Friends. They could be friends. He could do this. Forcing his feet to move, he walked past her to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, Jack! Why, man? Why?
> 
> Ok, I think I know why he insisted on doing that. He wants you all to stay safe, stay healthy, and come back for the next chapter.
> 
> We'd better listen to the CO, hey?  
> So stay safe, friends. Stay healthy. Stay strong. And see you again tomorrow xo  
> #QuarantineFic


	6. The second glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll swap ya a knife for a glass of wine. How would you like these chopped?”
> 
> It turns out Sam couldn't say no to dinner, after all.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone whose comments and own works light my dark days, a thank you from the bottom of Sam's cooking pot.
> 
> Chag Sameach and Happy Easter.
> 
> Stay safe, Unicorns. Until we meet. xo
> 
> \--oOo--

*Sam*

Her eyes followed his bare feet into the kitchen. Her body was rooted to the floor by his words. 

Yesterday morning, glowing with his closeness, she’d done what she’d always feared. She’d let her control slip and held him the way she did in dreams, aching with joy at his arousal, thrilling at his fingers on her skin. If her phone hadn’t rung, she would have lifted her head off his chest and followed the line of her breath to the tanned skin of his arm, pressing her lips into the crook of his elbow, trailing her mouth slowly upwards along the taut lines of his muscles.

He had broken the spell, had stepped away before she lost herself completely. 

Humiliation and dread had duelled in her chest for an upper hand since the moment he’d walked out, unwilling even to meet her eyes. All night, she had waited for the tight-voiced call, the disappointment in his tone as he reminded her of their ranks. Nothing had happened. He must have been too angry even to deal with her. How could she ever face him again?

A sleepless night had faded into a bleary day, moth-eaten by anxiety. As the setting sun cast the afternoon in soft gold, she’d escaped into her weekly ritual: cooking a rich beef stew, laced with wine. The familiar movements brought her some relief, though the two wine glasses - set out just like every Sunday night - both stood untouched next to the open bottle of wine. Usually she enjoyed letting her imagination wander free as she cooked and sipped from her glass, imagining easy conversation about their team-mates, the events of the past week. Some weeks, while the scents of a meal she knew he’d love rose around her, she allowed herself to drift further, to imagine waking up together, drifting on contentment. 

Tonight, though the ritual of cooking calmed her down, she could not let her thoughts run free, because the first thing that loomed was her monstrous loss of control and the impossible position her stupidity had placed him in. 

He was her commanding officer. He had offered her comfort after Fred’s near-death this week, even though that wasn’t his job. And now it was his job to discipline her for stepping _way_ across a line she should have known better than to even approach. _This_ was why she had never agreed to dinner with him. She was scared of not being strong enough. And yesterday, she’d proven to herself that she had been right in staying cautious.

How she hated her stupid, selfish heart.

And now he’d come over to warn her off in person. The kindest thing to do, even though she wished she didn’t have to see his disappointment.

But the words of reproach hadn’t come.

What he’d said instead had broken a dam around her heart, washing away all her expectations, leaving her hollow. _I love you. You know that, right? You know how I feel?_

Slowly, with unsteady legs and a shaking heart, she followed him.

“Smells damn good. If I’d known, Id’a dropped by just before dinner years ago.”

His joke drew a hesitant smile. His eyes bored into her until she had to look away again.

“So, put me to work. Carter. How can I help?”

She swallowed, looking at the patterns on the tea-towel she held onto like a lifebuoy. “Um, pour us some wine? Or would you prefer beer?”

“Wine’s fine,” he rumbled, his voice holding the gentle twist of care that threatened to make her lose herself again.

Twisting away, she picked up the carrots and stacked them on the chopping board.

A warm hand wrapped around the knife in her right hand, shocking her to stillness.

“I’ll swap ya a knife for a glass of wine. How would you like these chopped?”

His breath warmed the back of her neck, but he kept his body slanted to the side, letting her retreat to the distance her confusion needed without comment.

Quicksand swirled around her feet, but he turned, calm and sure, to the chopping board, letting the knife hover while he waited for direction.

“Bite size?” God, she despised the way her voice shook. She took a gulp of wine, willing the smooth, dark liquid to anchor her in the moment. After all she had done, he was giving her the Sunday night dream she’d played out alone every week for years. Sharing wine, cooking together.

“I’m assuming your bite and not Teal’cs,” he commented drily as the knife sliced through the orange flesh.

He didn’t turn at her slightly hysterical snort of laughter, but his shoulders softened as he carried on chopping, his voice finding ease as he chatted and she leaned back, watching him, slowly, impossibly, thawing into his presence as if her actions hadn’t really been the disaster she’d imagined. As if he really had forgiven her.

The carrots turned into careful cubes under his hands while she told him about Cassie’s ice skating, and the boy she had a crush on - the real reason she had wanted to go skating, of course.

“In the pot?” He held up the chopping board with his question.

“Uh huh, thank you, sir.”

For a second, a grimace marred his gentle expression. Then he wiped it clear and turned to the pot, dropping the carrots in. With an expert hand, he stirred them into the thick liquid before replacing the lid and reaching for his wine.

Suddenly, he stiffened. His glass banged down on the counter, making her jump. 

“Carter, am I interrupting?” A flush crept over his neck.

“What?” Reaching for the counter behind her, she set down her own glass, unsteady again.

His mouth pulled into a grim line, pulling her heart into the pit of her stomach. 

“You had two wine glasses ready. You’re expecting someone. I’m sorry, I should have asked. I’ll go.”

“No!” As he turned to leave her again, the fragile veneer of control shattered and her honesty bled into the space between them. “No,” she said again as he stopped, and pivoted back to face her from her doorway.

His brown eyes were all she could focus on. 

“You know how I feel, too,” she said softly. “The second glass has always been for you.”

“Sam?”

Hollow again, emptied even of honesty, she looked uncertainly at the floor.

The air thickened as he moved closer. “Sam.” His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to reveal her brimming eyes, her mouth pressed into a tight line to hold back the threatening tears.

The thumb of his free hand brushed her cheek. He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. His lips pressed gently against hers. His hands cradled her against him like porcelain as his kiss deepened. 

With a shudder, she tangled her arms around him, pulling him closer, tumbling into their kiss with the hunger of a hundred nights of longing, fear and loneliness and desire mingling like the taste of her tears on his skin. Her hands slid down his back, craving his skin, tugging at his shirt to grant her access.

A sharp nip at her lower lip, making her gasp, and his mouth pulled away, his fingers in her hair deftly stopping her from following. Love burned down from his smile.

“Christ, Sam.” He whispered hoarsely, pushing his body closer to her as he looked at her with wonder.

Under his gaze, in his hands, the room inside her heart burst open and spilled into her smile. Nestled against him, she knew, for once in her life she _knew_ , that loving him was more important than any consequence.

A bubble of laughter shivered up her spine. With a grin dimpling her cheeks, she dragged her hands further down, slipped them inside the back pockets of his jeans as her hips thrust up to meet him.

“Christ, Sam,” he repeated. He throbbed against her, his breath sharp and shallow.

She licked her lips, flushing with need. One hand found his fingers in her hair and wrapped around them, gently leading him towards the door. “Come,” she said, a new tremor in her voice.

As they passed the pot, he stopped. 

“Wait, we need to turn this off,” he murmured, his thumb tracking circles on her palm that chased goosebumps up and down her arm.

“Uh, it needs to simmer for a good hour.” She couldn’t believe he was stopping to discuss _stew_. Impatiently, she tugged him on.

She felt his weight shift through her arm, and suddenly her feet were kicking air, held effortlessly against his chest with one arm. Need for him, hot and wet, coursed through her core and a moan tore free.

Slowly, as her breath turned ragged, he slid her down his body, holding her eyes with his own. As her toes touched the ground, he lifted one lazy eyebrow.

“As I said,” he growled, “we need to turn this off.”


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would choose the same again,” she said quietly. “If I could yell ‘cut’ on my life and refilm it all, I would make the same decision. I would choose this life. I would choose to love you, to stand beside you, to follow your lead to keep the world safe. I would just — maybe. No definitely. I would have forced myself to get over my stupid fear of consequences and kissed you years ago.”
> 
> #HappyEndingsOnly  
> #QuarantineFic
> 
> \--oOo--

It was all so simple. When you let go of your fear and followed your heart to where it needed to be, everything made sense.

Leading him through her darkening house to where a single bedside lamp cast her bedroom in a welcoming glow against the evening, each hushed step took her deeper into peace. So many years at war with her desires. So many lonely nights. So many imagined conversations, desperate almost-declarations. Each one crushed by her fear.

And all that mattered was this. His hand in hers. His soft footsteps following her. He loved her. After all this time.

Beside her bed, she stopped, and turned to face him, finally unguarded, at long last nothing but herself.

“Sam.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. He placed the palm of his hand against her cheek, as gently as if he was scared she would dissolve into mist.

She covered his hand with hers, turned her head and pressed her lips against the warm skin, roughened by years of combat, still so hesitant to touch her. Nestling it closer to her cheek, she smiled up at him. 

“Jack.”

All the nights she had rolled around her empty bed, aching for his touch, for his strong body pressed against her, all the stolen glances, the unsaid words, all the years of love and pain were a dance of danger that she had been sure would lead them to destruction.

But his mouth trailing kisses over her eyes, along her neck, his tongue tenderly parting her lips, his fingers tracing the lines of her body before lifting her shirt and pressing her against his naked chest, his steadily beating heart, was no anxious dance. It was a homecoming.

As she unfastened his jeans, pushed his boxers down his thighs and took his length in her hand, he released a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, leaning his head against her hair, breathing deeply as she held him, stroking slowly, letting her tongue explore the taut muscles of his chest, her fingers follow the hollow line that carved down the centre of his stomach, curve around to find the twin dip between his cheeks.

WIth a soft moan, he lifted her head, claiming her mouth with his kiss.

Keeping her locked in his deep brown gaze, he let her bra drop to the floor, pulled the zipper on her jeans, folded his hands over the swell of her butt and down the backs of the thighs, smiling at her ragged breaths as he knelt in front of her. His fingertips feathered over the lace covering her, making her press into him, roll against him, rise up to guide his fingers closer to the need that throbbed in her. Still, his eyes held her fast.

“Jack,” she gasped, tangling her fingers through his hair.

His smile burned as he stripped away the lace keeping him from her and guided her onto the bed, lying beside her, the length of his body against her skin as his warm hands cupped her breasts, flowed along her belly and slipped between her thighs. Wonder lit his eyes as her moan tore free and she rose to meet him, begging him with rolling hips. Fingertips caressed her nub, then circled lower, slipping inside her slick heat.

Every sure movement of his hands, every soft shift of his need against her, brought her closer to ecstasy. But underneath the throbbing pleasure, a current of joy surged through her, filling her heart. 

With a sigh of release, she placed her hand over his and twisted to find his smile.

“Sam?” Worry creased his eyes, his hand drawing back.

A whimper escaped, her body arching into him, her hand firm on his wrist to keep his touch. 

“No, don’t stop. I …” Flushing under his intent gaze, she hooked her left ankle over his legs, opening herself wider to him, pulsing as she shifted against his hand. 

_So many years without speaking about what mattered. Now was the time to change._

“It.” She swallowed, bit her lip. “It feels … so right to have you inside me.”

Against her, every muscle in his body tensed. Then, with rush of breath, he gathered her in his arms and hid his face in her shoulder.

“Oh God. I am so sorry.” 

The pain in his words tore away her smile.

“What? Jack?” She cradled his head and lifted it. The pain in his eyes turned her stomach to stone.

With a grimace, he dropped his head again, burying it against her. His arms clung to her, fearful, taut.

Dread wound around her spine, stealing all warmth from the room.

“I took all of this from you.”

His voice was muffled against her chest, his body rigid.

“I was scared that you would feel coerced. That you would find someone better and feel trapped with me. So I did nothing. And I took the chance from you. You —” his fist clenched on her back “— you could have had children.”

His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, my love.” She nestled against him, wrapped her arms around his back. “Look at me. Please.”

His mouth was tight with pain as he lifted his head. She smoothed the lines with her fingertips.

“I chose this, Jack. I love Cassie, but I chose to spend my time keeping the world safe for her. Just like you did. There isn't spaci in this life for children. I knew that. And I chose it.”

“You’ve looked so sad, Sam.”

His eyes dropped closed, defeated.

_He’d seen everything she’d tried to carry on her own. Now was the time to change._

She pressed her mouth to his in a lingering kiss.

“I thought choosing to stand with you, choosing to fight alongside you, meant I couldn’t come home to you,” she breathed against his skin. “It was lonely. I was lonely. Loving you from a distance was lonely.” 

For a moment, the truth rising from her heart stole her breath. But this, more than anything, he needed to hear.

“Jack.” She waited until his eyes opened again. 

“I would choose the same again,” she said quietly. “If I could yell ‘cut’ on my life and refilm it all, I would make the same decision. I would choose this life. I would choose to love you, to stand beside you, to follow your lead to keep the world safe. I would just — maybe. No definitely. I would have forced myself to get over my stupid fear of consequences and kissed you years ago.”

In the silence of the evening, their bodies skin to skin, their legs intertwined, their eyes held as their hearts found each other’s rhythm.

“You’re cold.” 

His throat was tight around the words after minutes of silence.

“Hmm, a little.” Her legs pulled up, and ten icy toes tucked into the warmth between his calves.

“Hey!”

His shout of surprise drew a throaty giggle that flamed his need for her, hot and hard against her cool skin.

“Do you have any suggestions for, uh, getting warm, sir?” she purred his title as she licked his lower lip, rolling her hips against him.

“Holy shit, Sam,” he exhaled sharply.

The low chuckle rose again. Soft pressure rolled him onto his back and she rose to straddle him, breathing soft sighs as his hands trailed warmth across her belly, over the puckered peaks of her breasts.

A smile that shone with peace and mischief dimpled her cheeks. She shifted back, her hand caressing his length.

“You know one more good thing about not having kids?” she murmured, leaning forward, running her lips over his tip until he bucked and groaned.

“We would have had to give them dinner now, instead of doing this.”

His laughter and his groans of pleasure, her giggles and her moans, floated around them, rose and fell, as their bodies exploded into bliss and their hearts, finally, found a resting place in each other’s arms.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world needs happy endings, now more than ever. And this ending has been simmering in my heart, needing to be just right. This is the first time I've waited for Sam and Jack to find each other until it really is too late for them to start a family, even if they wanted to. 
> 
> What would that mean to two people with so much love to give?
> 
> In an Instagram inteview with Suanne Braun earlier this week, Amanda actually gave me the answer. "They would definitely be together, but it wouldn't be a normal relationship." The way she described it made sense, but more than that, it was infused with a sense of peace, a feeling that their relationship, unusual though it was because Sam commands a space ship, was just right for them.
> 
> And I can't help thinking she's right. No matter how much gloriously angsty pining they both do, in the end, they find peace together. Even if their "together" doesn't play by everybody's rules.
> 
> Thanks for walking this road with me, unicorns.  
> Sharing this with you makes a scary, lonely world more peaceful.  
> xo


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